


The World Series

by VR_Trakowski



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Challenge fic, F/M, Future Fic, Original Characters - Freeform, now AU, reposted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 08:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10658766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VR_Trakowski/pseuds/VR_Trakowski
Summary: A series of short challenge fics gathered into one place.  They all take place in the future when Grissom and Sara have grandchildren.Originally posted in 2004, 2005, and 2006.





	1. The World Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; any others belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
> 
> Somehow, I could never envision Grissom and Sara with young children, but I _could_ see them as grandparents. These are from various challenges over the years; most of them have the first and last lines given, which could sometimes be awkward.

Grissom approached the tomato warily. There was absolutely no telling where it would go next, given the arm of the culprit, and he reflected that she would make a first-class pitcher when she got a little older.

"Just wait until your mother gets back," he muttered, amused, and then made a snatch as the blue-eyed mischief-maker grabbed for the tomato wedge. He won, but all it got him was a screech of outrage, and he sighed.

"Here," he said, resigned, and handed the toddler the tomato. She batted it out of his hand and it fell onto the tray of her highchair, mixing in with the remnants of her lunch--cereal pieces, a few peas, and some peanut butter. Grissom eased himself into a nearby chair, feeling his knees complain, and watched with bemused adoration as the little girl slid the tomato around the tray, babbling all the while.

It had been a long time, he mused, since he'd had to deal with the sheer chaos and mess that a small child brought. _But I wouldn't give up one minute of it._ And where his own daughter had been a somewhat placid child, this one was a firecracker already. She had only just learned to walk, and still somehow she seemed to keep three steps ahead of everyone.

"Want some more milk?" he asked, and when she bared her teeth at him in a happy grin, he smiled back and got up to fill her sippy cup. _It's too soon to tell, but it looks like she'll have her grandmother's smile._ He opened the fridge. _I hope so, anyway._

Grissom filled the cup, put the lid on firmly, and gave it to his granddaughter, who immediately threw it back at him. He was ready this time, though, and caught it handily. "No," he said firmly. "This isn't for throwing."

The glee in her eyes faded to a serious look, and he took the tiny hand in his, gently wrapping her fingers around the handle of the cup. "Try again."

She stared at him a moment, then lifted the cup to her mouth and began drinking. "Good girl," he said fondly, not at all surprised that she had caught on so quickly. _She's definitely got her mother's brains...and since her mother has both of ours...well...we're going to be in trouble soon!_

As the toddler guzzled her milk, Grissom sat down again and looked around the kitchen. The normally pristine counter was cluttered with boxes and jars of baby food, and there was a stroller sitting in one corner. Order went out the window when his daughter and son-in-law came to visit, but he didn't mind in the least. It was worth any amount of spills and child-proofing to have his granddaughter around.

The floor underneath the highchair was now littered with bits of the toddler's lunch; she was just as apt to play with her food as to eat it, and sometimes Grissom wondered how she could grow so fast when it seemed that half her food got tossed onto the floor. He also wondered if his arthritic knees were a good enough excuse to get out of cleaning it up. He could just imagine it; his daughter's breezy assurance that she would do it, and Sara's narrow-eyed, teasing suspicion.

_They should be back soon._ The two women had gone out on some feminine shopping expedition; his son-in-law was busy all week at a conference, which left Grissom with the delightful role of babysitter. The baby in question smacked her empty cup down on her tray, and Grissom sighed happily and took it away before she threw it again.

"I suppose we could go to the park," he told her, "but I'll have to get you cleaned up first. What do you think of that?"

The toddler laughed, her voice surprisingly deep, and Grissom guessed that she had inherited Sara's lower register as well. He marveled at how genetic traits could skip a generation; two workaholic, independent scientists had produced an easy-going liberal-arts major who had deliberately chosen motherhood as a career, and yet her own child was already more like Grissom and Sara.

_Thirty years ago I would never have dreamed this was possible._ He indulged in memory for a moment, paging back through his daughter's life to before it, when one stubborn, intense physicist had _finally_ made him see sense. _And a good thing she did, t--_

The present intruded with rude suddenness as a handful of peas and cereal hit him in the chest, bouncing everywhere. Grissom looked over to his granddaughter, who was shrieking with glee, and sighed. "I need the bib more than you do," he informed her. She chuckled as he picked debris from his beard.


	2. The World Anew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The medical device mentioned herein is made up, but it seems more than likely that something similar will be developed within the next thirty years or so.

Her socks were mismatched again.

Grissom looked at the litter of clothes on the bed, which included one green sock and one purple, and shook his head fondly. His granddaughter had many delightful qualities, but tidiness wasn't one of them. Knowing that if he left the clothes where they were, Robin would simply scatter them on the floor when she went to bed that evening, he gathered them up and put them back in her little suitcase. Tomorrow morning they would be back on the bed as the six-year-old hunted for what she wanted to wear.

Putting the bag on the guest room's dresser, Grissom went in search of his girl. She was sitting slumped on the couch with the stereo remote, the purple-sheathed foot waving idly in the air, and he recognized the signs. Sitting down next to her, he laid his cane carefully on the coffee table and stretched his arm along the back of the couch. Without hesitation, Robin simply toppled over into him, burying her curly head in his side, and he dropped his arm around her and took the remote with the other hand, muting the sound. "You scared, honey?"

The head nodded, and he reached over and tugged her into his lap; Robin wrapped her arms around him as far as they would go, and he hugged her back, putting one big hand over the hair that reminded him so much of her grandmother's. "Hospitals are for sick people," she said, the words muffled against his shirt.

He sighed a little, acknowledging that. "Sometimes they are. Not always. Sometimes hospitals are to help people with stuff."

Her chin dug into his chest, but he didn't flinch. "But Jackie's grandma went to the hospital and died! And so did that kid from school."

Grissom stroked the curls--so soft, so fine--and searched for words. The search had gotten a little easier over time. "Not everybody who goes to the hospital dies. I didn't."

As he knew she would, Robin turned her head to press her ear to his chest, listening for the tiny hum of the device implanted next to his heart. The doctor said that the heartbeat regulator wasn't audible, but both his wife and his grandchild claimed they could hear it, and he was more inclined to believe them than his cardiologist.

Some of the tension in Robin's fine-boned frame eased as she listened. "It's still working," she reported.

"That's good to know," Grissom answered gravely. "Robin, look at me for a minute."

She lifted her head, the big green eyes she got from her father wide and grave. Grissom hated to even acknowledge the possibility, but he hated lying even more, especially to children, and his bright young granddaughter was old enough to understand.

"It's true that your mom might become sick. Having a baby is a difficult thing--it takes a lot of work--and once in a while something can go wrong." He smoothed a curl out of her eyes, holding her gaze. "But your mom's a healthy lady, and the baby is healthy too. They went to the hospital so that if something did go wrong, the doctors would be right there to fix it." _And please, please don't let anything go wrong,_ he prayed silently. Medicine had come a long way since boiling water and giving birth at home, but nothing was perfect. "Grandma and your dad are there with your mom; they'll take care of her and help her. And soon you'll be able to meet your baby brother."

Robin pouted a little. "I wanted to go too."

"I know, sweetie." _So did I._ "But kids aren't allowed in the birthing rooms."

She nodded. "Too many germs. Mommy told me."

"Yeah. You're strong, but some of the babies aren't yet." Grissom thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to distract her for a while. "What do you do at home when you feel unhappy?"

"Hold Mr. Bun." Her face pinched; she'd sent the beloved, tattered toy along for little Brian, so he wouldn't be scared after he was born. "And we go outside and blow dandelion clocks."

Grissom pursed his lips in exaggerated concentration. "Well, I don't think we have any dandelions here, but...I know."

The phone rang, and he tensed. Robin sprang off his lap and rushed to answer it, leaving him to grab his cane and push himself to his feet. But before he could reach the kitchen where she stood, her voice was bright in the room. "Hi, Aunt Lins!"

Grissom limped into the kitchen where Robin cradled the phone in both hands. "No, I can't come play; Brian's getting born and I have to stay here." A pause. "Yeah, I'll get him." She turned around and handed Grissom the phone.

He put it to his ear, holding up one finger to get Robin to wait. "Hi, Lindsey."

"Hey, Uncle Gil. Any word yet?" He smiled at the laughing voice, and reached into a cupboard for the small bottle he'd bought for just such an occasion.

"Nothing yet, but you'll be the first to know." He handed the bottle to Robin, who grinned and ran out of the room.

"Sure, right after all the relatives. Just keep us posted, okay?" Grissom could hear the shouts of her twin boys in the background.

"Of course." A discreet beep interrupted him. "I've got another call coming in--"

"Go, go!" And she hung up.

He switched lines. "Hello?"

Sara's voice reached his ear, huskier than usual. "Gil--"

She didn't have to continue, he could hear the joy, but he let her go on, feeling the grin spread over his face.

The conversation was brief, but it left him dizzy with relief and happiness. He stared down at the phone in his hand, thinking of all the people he had to call, then set it aside. One person deserved the news first.

He found her on the back porch blowing soapbubbles.


	3. Joy to the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this is my forty-second published CSI fic, if one counts the one I'm co-authoring. *boggle* Does this have some HHGTTG-related cosmic significance, or does it just mean I need to find something else to do with my time?

"Quit picking at it!" Sara grinned at her granddaughter. "It won't set right if you don't leave it alone."

Robin looked up a bit guiltily. "I want to put it up." Her fingers hovered over the doughy creation; to Sara's eyes it looked like a particularly mutant pigeon done in a startling shade of pale green, but Robin insisted it was a dove.

"It has to harden first, sweetie. And we don't have anything to hang it on yet, anyway."

Robin sighed, and licked her palm unselfconsciously, reminding Sara of the times when she had done just the same. The salt in the flour clay made it irresistible to young palates. "We could put it in the window, until Daddy and Grandpa get back."

Sara chuckled. "Tell you what--I'll set the timer, and when it buzzes, your dove should be ready." She suited actions to words. "What do you want to do in the meantime?"

"Play the music game?" Robin said hopefully, looking towards the entertainment system.

Sara shook her head, grinning again. Robin preferred to play against Sara because Sara couldn't remember nearly as many tunes as Grissom. "Your mom and Brian are napping, remember? We need to be quiet for a while longer." She put her hands on her hips and looked around. "How about reading?"

"Okay!" Robin bounced out of the kitchen chair, and Sara caught her before she could dash out into the living room.

"Wash your hands first."

They ended up snuggled together on the couch, Robin on Sara's lap. _She's getting so big...but not too big yet for a good cuddle._ Sara opened the book to the chapter where they'd left off the last time. Robin had long since learned to read, but she still loved to be read to. "It was the sweetest, most mysterious-looking place any one could imagine," Sara began.

One chapter and then two passed by, and the dove was left to set in peace as Sara and Robin wandered the paths of the book. But when the door opened, letting in a gust of cool air and two men bearing a large fir, Robin sprang up and ran over, squealing with glee. Sara rolled her eyes, but it was too late for hushing.

She stayed where she was and watched her husband and her son-in-law maneuver the Christmas tree into the place cleared for it near the living room window, laughing and working around the excited Robin. When her daughter emerged from the guest bedroom to enjoy the show, Sara held out her arms, and the warm sleepy bundle that was Brian was placed in them. She smiled down at the tiny face. "It'll be a Christmas to remember, even if you won't," she told him softly.

Brian stared back at her, face wrinkling in an innocent pucker before crumpling towards tears. Sara chuckled and gave him back to her daughter, who sat down next to Sara and threw a towel over her shoulder in preparation for nursing.

"I don't remember it being quite this chaotic when I was little," Emily said quietly, grinning.

Sara snorted. "Selective memory," she teased, appreciating the picture that Grissom made--one hand on his cane and the other stretched out to hold the tree upright while Michael lay on the floor to fasten it into the stand. If she told him how handsome he looked, Grissom would gripe to her about his bowed shoulders and his silver hair, but it didn't matter; she had other ways to convince him of how attractive he was, especially when he laughed.

The buzzer went off, and Robin dashed into the kitchen, returning with her dove. Her father--a slender man two inches shorter than Sara, which had taken a bit of getting used to--helped her hang it ceremoniously on the tree, while Grissom went to find the camera.

Sara looked back to her daughter, seeing Grissom in the blue of her eyes and her own self in Emily's fine bones. Robin's eyes had gone from blue to green and she had her mother's build, but two-month-old Brian was still a mystery.

_Well, we'll find out soon enough._ Rising a little stiffly, she went to dig out the boxes of ornaments.

Late that night, Sara was roused from sleep by a tiny voice. She opened her eyes to see Robin standing next to the bed, her battered Mr. Bun clutched in both arms. "Grandma?"

Sara pushed herself up, glancing over to make sure that Grissom was still asleep. "What is it, sweetie?" she whispered.

Robin's eyes were big and solemn. "There's a Something under my bed."

Sara arched a brow. "Oh, really?"

The little girl nodded gravely. "It's hairy and mean and it won't let me go back to bed."

Sara suppressed a smile. "Did you tell the Something that it's Christmas and mean isn't allowed?"

Robin nodded again. "It won't listen!"

"Well, maybe I should go tell it, then." Sara made to get out of bed, and Robin's face fell.

"I don't think it'll listen to you either, Grandma."

"I don't think it has a choice," Sara said, amused, but left off the teasing as her granddaughter looked more distressed. "Okay, I'll leave it alone for tonight. Get in here."

Robin scrambled up onto the bed, and Sara drew the covers up. Glancing at her husband again, she saw his eyes gleaming back at her; one of them dropped shut in a wink, and then he closed them both. She shook her head.

"Robin, there isn't really a Something in your room, is there?"

The little girl hesitated. "I _think_ there is," she said doubtfully, and Sara had to laugh.

"Next time you want to sleep with me, just ask."


	4. World Around

It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Michael gazed at the photo on the low coffee table and remembered walking into the townhouse for the first time, terrified that he would be bounced right back out again. And laughed at himself, because his fears seemed so groundless now.

His father-in-law's limping step sounded behind him, and Michael looked up from the laughing group of teens as the older man lowered himself into a recliner with a grunt, and held out a brown bottle. "Here."

"Thanks." Michael twisted off the cap and took a sip of the dark beer, sighing appreciatively. Grissom repeated the ritual with another bottle, and for a couple of minutes the two men were comfortably silent.

_Ask me then, and I would never have thought this was possible,_ Michael admitted, settling further into the couch. To be at ease around the legends that were his in-laws, to think nothing of staying over at their house--it was beyond his imagination then. True, both criminologists had regarded Michael with some suspicion when Emily had first brought him home, but with astonishing speed their attitude had morphed into benevolent welcome.

It still puzzled him, a little.

He laughed again, and one of Grissom's brows went up. "What is it?"

Michael shook his head, and took another swallow of beer. "The first time I came here…why didn't you throw me out?"

He never seemed to be able to surprise either Grissom or Sara. The older man cocked his head and regarded Michael calmly. "Why would we?"

Michael raised his own brows. "Well, let me see. I was a debt-ridden, hag-ridden, nervous wreck of a grad student with no family to speak of, trailing after Emily like a lovesick puppy. I'm not even sure I combed my hair that morning. I thought any good parent would take one look at me and slam the door in my face."

Grissom chuckled. "And face the wrath of Emily?" He held the bottle up to the light for a moment. "To paraphrase one of her favorite authors, when one's only daughter points and says firmly, _I want this one, Dad,_ the most prudent thing to do is agree." He shrugged and took another drink. "Besides, as Sara noted, Emily has more common sense than the two of us combined. If she thought you were worth it, then you were."

A wail cut across the end of his sentence, and the two men exchanged wry glances. Michael pushed to his feet. "Must be dinnertime."

His son was sitting up in his crib in the guest room, crying with his usual concentration, but as soon as Brian spotted Michael, he stopped and used the crib's bars to pull himself up. He never wasted whimpers as soon as he knew he had attention. Michael grinned and leaned over to pick him up, kissing his scanty curls in passing, and Brian gave his happy chuckle and clutched Michael's shirt.

Changing his son's diaper took only a few practiced moments; when he returned to the living room, babe in arms, Grissom was waiting in his chair as though he had never moved. Only the bottle in one hand showed that he'd risen.

There was no arguing with a grandfather, not that Michael planned on it. He lowered his son into the waiting arms and took his seat again, watching as Grissom cradled Brian expertly and began feeding him.

They would make an endearing picture, Michael thought, the old gray man and the kicking baby, with eyes the same deep color; Brian's hands clutched the bottle and his face was blissful, and Grissom's own expression was half-hidden contentment. In fact, Michael knew, such a picture already existed; though Emily had painted her father and daughter, the expressions were similar. _Maybe I can talk her into doing one with Brian and Sara._

Michael didn't think he'd have to try very hard.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost time for dinner; the ladies would be back soon from their girls' day out. "Want me to start the pizzas?"

Grissom nodded, not looking up, and Michael rose again to dig the homemade pies out of the freezer and turned on the oven. Grissom made a superlative pizza, and among the generously topped circles--green pepper and mushroom for Sara and Michael, pepperoni to the edges for Grissom and Emily--was a smaller one with cheese and extra tomatoes for Robin. She loved having a pizza all her own.

Michael fetched two more beers and returned to the living room. Brian, who had probably been playing quietly for at least an hour before wanting his supper, had finished his bottle. Grissom had turned him gently over into his preferred sleeping position, bottom up along someone's arm and cheek resting against the sleeve; he wasn't bothering to hide his pleasure now. Michael paused for a moment to appreciate the scene.

"Want me to put him back to bed?" he asked at last, but Grissom shook his head.

"We're fine."

Michael opened the beers, and the two of them sat for a while, arguing baseball in low tones. Their caution wasn't really necessary; Brian, like his big sister, could sleep through almost anything, which he proved when the front door opened and Robin danced in with a shopping bag in each hand.

The house filled with cheerful voices as Robin showed off her new shoes loudly and the women came over to distribute kisses to their spouses. Brian never stirred on Grissom's arm, happily slumbering on and drooling a little.

The photo caught Michael's eye again, and he picked it up, enjoying the sight of his wife before he'd ever met her, arm in arm in arm with friends in a years-gone summer day. Behind them rose parched-looking rocks.

"Desert camping?" Michael asked. Emily leaned over the back of the couch for a closer look, and laughed.

"Teenage wasteland," she grinned.


	5. World Without End

She found Grissom in the park down the street, sitting on a bench and twirling a dandelion in his fingers. Sara walked slowly up to the bench and sat down next to him, a bit heavily; her back troubled her from time to time. _That's what you get for getting old._

For a little while, neither of them said anything; Sara watched him out of the corner of her eye, admiring the crisp silver hair and the handsome lines of his face, but also feeling a pang of guilt at the sadness that drew his mouth down.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, abruptly. "I had no right to say that."

Grissom pursed his lips, looking regretful rather than judicious. "No, but I had no business saying what I did, either."

Sara sighed, and slid closer. His arm lifted without hesitation to circle her shoulders, and she leaned against him, still feeling guilty but not as upset. "You'd think that after more than a quarter of a century we'd learn not to argue."

He snorted, faintly humorous. "I think we'd have more to worry about if we _didn't_ argue, sweetheart." His eyes were fixed on the cloudy blossom in his fingers, and she knew he was still hurt, even though he'd probably forgiven her before he'd even made it to the park.

It was a childhood habit of his, one that he'd taught to their daughter when she was small--picking dandelions and blowing away the seeds, and telling time by the puffs it took to bare the stem. He usually only did it when he was sad or worried, and needed a distraction, and such times were rare; Sara prided herself on usually being his distraction, and not the cause of his sorrow.

She rested her hand on his leg. "You still run away from conflict."

Grissom shrugged idly. "I don't like yelling."

It was true; and their voices had been escalating. Sara winced at the memory. They didn't argue often, and almost never to such a point. Maybe it was fear; but they had a strong and honest relationship, so she didn't consider it too much of a problem. Usually.

"Don't worry about it," he said softly, turning to look at her, and the love that shone in his gaze made her heart melt and her throat tighten. Her hair might be streaked with gray now, and her face netted with tiny lines, but in Grissom's eyes she was never anything less than beautiful.

She sighed, conceding, and rested her head on his shoulder. For a while they sat in the sunshine, silently healing the wounds they'd dealt each other in their squabble. As she had so many times before, Sara blessed Grissom's patience with her temper, even as she knew he blessed her patience with his foibles. A marriage was ever a renewed act of creation, she reminded herself; and no creation was perfect.

Finally Grissom stirred. "How about we go home and come back with a picnic? It's a beautiful day, and we've spent too much time indoors lately."

Sara chuckled and raised her head. "A picnic? You just want to attract some ants."

Grissom smirked. "There is that aspect, yes."

"Why not?" She squeezed his leg gently. "It's been a long time since we had one."

"I still remember our first picnic," Grissom said fondly.

"What, the summer when the lab's night shift team beat out the PD at softball?"

He shook his head. "Years before that. Don't you remember? You, me, a thermos, a dead pig..."

Sara started laughing. "Oh, _that_ one. Well, if you want to count that..."

Grissom grinned, and his arm tightened around her shoulders. He held out the dandelion, and Sara took a deep breath and blew.


End file.
